Desperate Measures
by Ajuxliapose
Summary: With Ron kidnapped by Death Eaters for Harry's mysterious whereabouts, Hermione takes matters into her own hands with a desperate and far fetched idea r+r
1. Chapter One

Hi to anyone who reads this story,

This is my fic Desperate Measures which I've been writing over the past year. It is now finished, but I'm just making a few tweaks to spellings, grammar and a few plot and characterisation details. I've really enjoyed writing this and I hope anyone reading this enjoys it too.

So, ummmm, yeah - let's carry on with the story. Please review and let me know what you think about it.

Hermione Granger or Emma Mercer as she was going to be known from now on, leaned against the outside wall of the Hog's Head smoking a cigarette. She hated these dirty little white sticks that emitted poisonous smoke, and if her parents had known she was smoking - they would have seriously disapproved. They were dentists and smoking caused yellow teeth and bad breath in their opinion. But that wasn't the issue at the moment. She was twenty and could do anything she wanted. The cigarette was for the extra allure and it made her cough if she inhaled too deeply.

Why was she here, outside this distasteful pub, dressed like a whore, unrecognisable even to herself? She reminded herself, for Ron.

She smiled to herself as she remembered relaying her plan to Dumbledore. He wasn't surprised as more amused by the transformations she could go through without magic. Already she had dyed her hair a striking blonde, but needed potion to straighten her hair instead of the electrical Muggle straighteners she used at home. It was important she was unrecognisable. Adding in coloured contacts that were a light baby blue and losing a few pounds and shaping her body up from a comfortable slim to skinny with muscles in the right places in the stomach and shapely legs. She looked every inch the pampered and gorgeous star.

But she hated the way she looked like this. The black robe she was wearing was too short - if she bent over, she would be showing off more than she wanted to ever show - even to a lover with the lights on. The robe was too low cut; it showed more of her breasts than she wanted to. But, hopefully it would attract at least one of the right men. It had to. There wasn't any time to lose.

Hermione knew they were in there and it was just a case of waiting for them to leave. She could see one of their cars waiting outside, and she would too. Wait all bloody night if she had too.

Half an hour passed. She was starting to get tired. Her four-inch spike stilettos were hurting her back and her feet ached and she swore if her boobs stayed in this position round her neck any longer, she would get a headache. But she carried on. For Ron's sake, attracting one or more Death Eaters to take her home with them and become a regular visitor, as a maid, whore, anything would get her closer to finding her friend.

The door opened, Hermione looked up in hope that it would be one of them. She was disappointed; it was just a leering old drunk. She looked at him disdainfully and the poor old sod staggered off wailing about how attractive he used to be.

More long minutes followed. Was it really worth the embarrassment? Nobody knew her real identity and she was glad for that. More old wizards ogled her nearly naked body and witches gave her filthy looks. She cared only for a moment until she remembered that she was Emma Mercer like this, not Hermione Granger and Hermione Granger would never be associated with such a character. Her reputation was safe – not that she really cared in the first place, she tried to lie to herself.

Was she really going to submit her body to Death Eaters? For all she knew, they might rape her, kill her and leave her in a ditch - then where would she be? She hoped they were all impotent, with no leanings towards sadomasochism and would just want a pretty face or intelligent young woman around the place. She wasn't sure if it would even work. It seemed like such a good idea at the time to engage herself to the service of Death Eaters and use herself as a honey trap to find Ron - surely even they would have base desires? And who says they would tell her or let her hear anything about where Ron was? But that was where she had her advantage - Fred and George's ultra extendable ears. Even in the dead of night when they would be whispering three rooms away in their dingy hideout, the ears would be out.

It was a bad idea. She knew it now. They were never going to come out and sooner or later she would be bundled in a car and never seen again. It was becoming harder to be positive, this brilliant plan now seemed like she had plotted to send herself in front of Voldemort and try and fight him as an eleven year old. How could she be so stupid?

In spite of herself, she still stayed. After reproaching herself, it wasn't long before the door swung open and the faces of Nott, Avery, MacNair and other known Death Eaters were in front of her face. It was time to put plans to action.

She flicked her hair and eyed them up suggestively. Several of them gulped nervously - oh come on. Hermione thought, say something.

One she didn't know approached her, trying to keep straight after so many drinks, he whispered a proposition in her ear. She didn't need asking twice and followed them to the car and got in, slamming the door.


	2. Chapter Two

Hi all again,

I did something silly and deleted my chapters instead of replacing and I may have lost my reviews. Wail with me people, or just send more reviews, just to tell me you're reading the story.

Thanks.

Harry had something important to tell Ron the day that Ron went missing. He wouldn't discuss it by owl and he refused to meet Ron in public. Ron didn't mind though, it meant he could have his best friend to himself without half the town jabbering greetings and wanting to chat. They agreed that they would meet at Ron's rented lodgings in a tiny village a few kilometres from Hogsmeade at seven o' clock. It was January and would be dark by then, Harry had less chance of being seen.

Harry had barely been seen out in public a month and a half prior to Ron's abduction. This had hurt Ron and Hermione because he had shut himself away from the world. They could only guess what he had been doing.

Harry wasn't a confused and angry teenager anymore - on the surface, careful mannered and spoken twenty-year-old man. Rumours had been flying around the wizarding world that he was training to become an Auror, or were 'In hiding from You-Know-Who' Or that the great and good Harry Potter was undergoing many dark and dangerous transformations to become strong enough to fight the Dark Lord.

All were plausible, but Ron knew that all was bullshit.

It was five o' clock in the evening now and had been properly dark for half an hour, Ron contemplated actually cooking something for dinner that night, but after a few messy attempts at a simple meal of pasta, he sighed, gave up and made some toast instead.

After that little drama, it was six o' clock and Ron thought about picking up a few bits of paper around the living room and sweeping the floor in the likely case Hermione came with Harry and decided to give him a few choice words about the state he was living in. He didn't like to exasperate her in that, but he knew he was to laidback to care properly about cleaning.

No sooner had he neatly stacked the paper, swept the floor and sat at the sofa with a mug of coffee, he heard a light pattering of feet down the pathway. Ron looked out the window expecting to see Harry and/or Hermione walking to his door.

Ron saw no one; he assumed that Harry was early and wearing his invisibility cloak, he would let himself in. It was starting to get chilly, even though the fire was blazing in the fireplace. Ron shuddered. All of a sudden he felt a whack of depression. It wasn't like him; recently, he had been fine, content. What the hell was going on?

It felt like hours were passing, but it was only seconds. Fear was hitting him in overpowering cold waves.

There was a polite knock on the door. Ron gulped, but found the nerve to answer the door. He didn't see why he was scared. It was only Harry...

Later on reflection, he wished he had taken his wand, though he didn't see how it would have done much good.

When Ron opened the door, a strong unseen force pushed past him onto the floor. He got up quickly and looked for his wand, if this was Harry's idea of a joke - he was going to hex him into next year! His wand wasn't there, it was twirling mockingly above his head where he had left it on the coffee table and bent down to get it.

This wasn't funny anymore. Another wand emerged. Ron felt sick; he didn't hear the spell muttered as he queasily tried to yell.

He was mute. Within seconds, he knew a full body bind would be placed on him. It was an attack, a silent attempt to abduct him. Ron had to think quickly, could he fight them off? How many of them were there? Who was it? Where the hell was his wand?

No time for that, powerful colours of curses were flying round the room. He was doing his best to dodge, but he knew he couldn't keep on jumping, knocking over his mug of coffee over the table and floor, sweeping papers everywhere. Ron saw a thick, hairy arm reach out of the cloak to punch him unconscious. Ron dodged it, but stumbled on the coffee table and cracked his head open. He didn't notice the blood pouring out, or his mind slowing down to acknowledge he had been hurt. He knew resistance was fruitless and if he struggled more, they would kill him. But he wasn't going to just stand still and let these unknowns take him away. It dawned on him, as he lay there dazed for a moment - that it must be Death Eaters in invisibility cloaks come to get him. Why? He was pure blood and he hadn't seen Harry in weeks - he wasn't even a member of the order yet. Dumbledore had put him off to say join when he was twenty-one. 'Live a little first, learn a trade or be educated further - you could be more help then.'

The back door from the kitchen was wrenched open. The cold hit him harder than ever. It was Dementors who floated in. Ron sunk to his knees in fear and horror at the creatures. His head started to swirl and the worst of his memories came back.

The teddy that turned into a spider as a child smashed into Ron's mind first. It became worse. His meeting with Aragog and the day he thought Ginny had died in the Chamber of Secrets came next. If he could have cried out then, he would have. Then came into his mind the thoughts of Voldemort's return, Sirius' death... It was all too much; Ron began to twitch deliriously on the floor. He knew he was defeated. He would die now- they would kill him. Unarmed and unable to call for help, Ron knew that this was the end...

Hermione walked up the path to Ron's lodgings with Harry under an invisibility cloak at half seven. They were silent as she always refused to talk to him when he was wearing 'that thing'. She hated other wizards thinking she was talking to herself and that she was some mad young delinquent. She was also not pleased with him because they had got their meeting place confused, and had no means of communication. Also Harry was invisible - he would not tell her why he was invisible or where he'd been for weeks, which was really annoying her.

They let themselves into the house and stopped in horror at the sight before them.

The room was a chaotic mess, with paper and bits of rubbish everywhere, spilled coffee and blood and fibres of Ron's old 'fart arsing around the house cloak' in places.

Hermione gasped and whimpered at the sight of blood on the now smashed coffee table.

Harry already had his wand out and was starting to look around the house calling Ron's name. There was no reply, he gave up and stared at the blood splattered around the room. Hermione was close to panicking. She was racking her brains thinking what had happened to Ron.

"Go next door Hermione and talk to the neighbours, see if they saw or heard anything suspicious," commanded Harry. His voice was close to breaking. There was an awful lot of blood soaked onto the floor; he prayed Ron was not dead. Hermione dared not disobey him - they should raise the alarm. _He must be in trouble_, she thought desperately - _he hasn't even got his wand._

His wand was lying forgotten on the sofa, tossed away carelessly while his kidnappers made their escape. Harry pocketed the wand. There was no doubt in his mind now that Ron had been abducted. No doubt as well that it was Death Eaters or other such dark force.

They were going to torture him for information of Harry's location and potential plans in defeating their master. Attempt to break memory charms on him if they suspected any.

But Ron knew nothing. Hermione knew nothing. Only Albus Dumbledore knew of where Harry was and what he was doing - and he wasn't telling. They would find out that Ron knew nothing even before they could drag Ron out of the house that he was as clueless as they were about the young wizard. The merciless Death Eaters and their evil leader would find this out and kill him straight away, Harry thought morosely.

Hermione entered Ron's living room again.

"I spoke to both sets of neighbours. One of them has been out all day; I met him at the door just as he was coming in. The witch next door on the other side said that about six o' clock she heard crashes, but didn't want to intervene because he'd been arguing with a woman loudly that day - she saw Ginny come out soon after in tears. I know what that was about - its stupid really - he treats her like a kid..."

"You'll have to alert the Ministry or The Order – whichever is the better."

"Why me Harry?"

"Because I'm not supposed to be seen. Look, I can't tell you anymore, just promise me you'll do all you can to get him back..."

"What about you Harry?"

"I can't, they'll expect me to go after him to save him and Voldemort will kill me."

Harry's voice changed to a softer tone of voice, he knew if he started speaking too loud, his voice would start to crack with emotion, and he needed to be strong so that Hermione would feed off that.

"Please just find him. I would - you know I would, I would save him or bring his body back- but I can't – it's too risky."

Hermione advanced towards Harry and wrapped her arms around his middle, while he pulled her in by the shoulders. Hermione thought she was going to cry at any minute clung onto him like a life raft.

"You have to do everything you can. You have to use your bravery and all brains, wit and cunning,"

"I know - I don't know what I would do if I lost Ron," wailed Hermione.

"Me too."

They stayed in that embrace for five minutes. Longer than they should have done, time was at the essence. They didn't know if they were fighting to keep Ron alive, or having his dead body blown to smithereens. Finally, they broke away. Hermione promised she would do everything in her possible power to keep her word to Harry and bring Ron back.

Harry left Ron's little house under his cloak while Hermione left the house as it was, but locked the door. She was on her way to report to the ministry about Ron - though she didn't know why - bungling idiots. On a whim, she decided to owl Dumbledore instead and ask him what to do.

Dumbledore replied almost immediately and sent transport for her to get to Hogwarts. Once she was in his office in its usual organised chaos and Hermione became relieved to be in the safest place in the wizarding world. Dumbledore smiled at her in a friendly manner as she sat down. But as she told her story, his already small smile faded and he looked grave. She told him of Harry's words to go and save him herself - but the notion of it seemed so ridiculous that she, although an extremely talented witch, was inexperienced in actual dealings with the Dark Arts and her rushing in to save young Mr. Weasley from the servants of Voldemort would certainly kill her.

Dumbledore was rambling onto himself she thought exasperated that this great wizard had no obvious solution. But when she started to listen, an idea struck her. Dumbledore was calmly talking about transformations and slyly joining elite groups and how so-and-so had done this in 1928 to spy on an up and coming dark wizard.

"But one thing worries me Miss Granger," If you are faced with the Voldemort, how will you hide your cover? He is an accomplished Legilimens- you would be found out and killed,"

Hermione grinned.

"And I am an accomplished Occlumens, Professor. I was fascinated when Professor Snape had been teaching Harry, and I went to read about it in the library. I have always wanted to know and to do as much as possible when it comes to magic. This form intrigued me because it was so advanced. Harry told me that You-Know-Who was a Legilimens, and since fifth year, I have been determined to educate myself with this because, obviously I am close to Harry, and Muggle so I am in danger to a point. Books could only tell me so much. Last year, at headquarters, I called in a favour from Snape – it didn't take long for me to learn."

Dumbledore seemed more impressed that Hermione managed to call in the said favour from Severus Snape – he wasn't the most of the willing to teach the art of Occlumency. He smiled, nodded, leaned back and said he was impressed and that he was glad that this little problem had been solved.

Hermione left Hogwarts within the hour she entered. There was no time to lose; a plan was forming in her head. She hoped up to God, Merlin, who ever was listening that she could get her and Ron through this alive. It wasn't the most plausible, sensible or brilliant plan - rather crude, cliché and dangerous. But she saw no other choice and got to work straight away.

Using Wizarding charms to change her appearance was not the best of ideas - Hermione realised that straight away. Charms can be stripped away and if they suspected for one minute she was in disguise...

She took notes of everything possible she would have to change about her appearance - hair, eyes, voice and basic body outline. Hair was easy, she would dye it the opposite colour to hers - blonde but have to magically sort out the fast growing roots. She would purchase coloured contact lenses... a nice blue - she thought, imply Veela blood. She could just put on an accent – maybe those drama clubs her parents had put her through to raise her confidence and self-esteem as a child had become of some use.

'It would be nice to be a metamorphagus' Hermione contemplated. She hated the idea of contact lenses, but decided she would do it and not moan.

The body was a harder thing - this would have to be achieved by magic. Months of operations were not an option. Hermione opted for shrinking from her height of five feet five, to a more docile and innocent looking five feet. She put an engorgement charm on her breasts grudgingly. She liked her moderate chest that left her free to lie on her front in bed. She used a complicated charm to give the impression of a more toned stomach and legs. It was four o'clock in the morning at that time; there was nothing more that she could do until the shops were open.

Hermione went to a shop at nine o' clock the next morning to buy some bleach for her hair. She followed the instructions exactly. She was pleased that the result was not ginger. She would look too much like a Weasley.

She entered her opticians at eleven o' clock. After a brief discussion with her optician and stressing the importance that she had the lenses now. After finding a blue pair that fitted, Hermione said she would order the other pairs and take this pair and the solution there and then.

Hermione made her way up to Hogwarts to clear her idea and new appearance with Dumbledore before she put her life on the line. He didn't appear to recognise her. She had blocked her thoughts from being available to him, and his surprise in the transformation vaguely showed on his aged face.

They ran through her plan and her new name and back ups and authenticity of their story- should the Death Eaters become suspicious, so they would have no reason to doubt her. If they didn't take to her, she would change her appearance time and time again until they took her in. Several trusted members of The Order would be in on this, Tonks in particular because of her ability to change appearance at will and able to pose as relatives, friends or even into Hermione herself.

They found out that the Death Eaters would be meeting up in the Hog's Head that night. Hermione had no time to get nervous. She would have to get certain on her plan, mannerisms and spells to use and wonder how the hell flirting with Death Eaters was going to lead her to Ron.

Ten o' clock. It was time now to stand out side the pub and wait.


	3. Chapter Three

May I take this opportunity to thank Green Fairy for this beta job and teaching me how to punctuate speech. Also, thank you to anyone who is reviewing.

Hermione stepped confidently into the car even though she didn't feel it. It took all her power not to wobble from the inexperience of her high heels and nerves. Her wand was hidden inside her robes to pull out at any time, and she had a handbag with Muggle safety precautions like a personal alarm. A shrunken bag full of useful things was inside that bag and she knew she would need them, and wished she had been able to carry more.

She shook away her misgivings as a Death Eater leered at her, trying to pull more fabric over her exposed legs. She chided herself as she remembered that was a Hermione thing. Emma was a slag in her clothing through and through and would not care if she were showing her arse. Hermione moaned inwardly - this was hell on earth, and the car was drafty, cold, and stinking of body odour, cigars and dust.

Hermione surveyed the few Death Eaters. There were two groups. The ones that were ogling her and then the ones that severely mistrusted her. They obviously weren't used to picking up young women, but the way she was dressed and presented was too much. They would have their fun with her tonight, modify her memory and let her go.

She knew she would have to lick the boots of the obvious ringleader in this group. The one who would want her around and trust her most, she would have to get in with him first so he could approve, and once the others were used to her, she would be a fixture - probably once it was cleared with Voldemort as well.

It wasn't a long journey, but it was a silent one. The car stopped and she followed them into a little house that was hidden to Muggles.

She let her eyes take in the surroundings. Hermione expected the house to not be like the car, that surely they would take care more of their surroundings as they had to live in it, the car was only very occasionally used, so it looked. The driver seemed unfamiliar with actually driving and constantly crunched the gears and stalled a few times.

The house was very dirty. It looked like it had once been lavish and wailed Lucius Malfoy and his tainted money. It needed a lot of cleaning and care, as there were burn marks from curses practiced. Maybe they wouldn't keep her as a one-night thing and prevent them from living like pigs instead and clean for them. Just because they were in hiding didn't mean they had to hide in such squalor.

But come on... Hermione thought bitterly. They are men; their dicks control them. She was going to be nothing more than a common prostitute to them and a thick bimbo. They would never trust her with anything and they would be too guarded to let her find out anything anyway - if they didn't kill her first. But she had to try, for Ron's sake, to try and find him. She owed him that much- to try.

The ringleader beckoned Hermione to come to him and follow him into a little room off the main reception area where the others were settling down. He eyed her up approvingly. Hermione shuddered. He motioned for her to sit at the chair in front of the desk.

"Do you have a name?" he asked, smirking.

"Of course I do sir, my name is Emma Mercer."

"Well Emma Mercer," the man said softly, but menacingly. "Why do you think you are here?"

"I have no idea, I was standing outside of the pub and you called me over and I came."

"Yes. Some of us called you over because we assume you perform... services."

Hermione blanched visibly. This was goodbye to her dignity - but she would do it - and do it gladly, because each release every man got through her, she would be closer to gaining trust or witnessing a blunder, which meant she would find Ron. Time to switch off emotions, thought Hermione. She smiled archly.

"Depends on the kind you are talking about..."

"Don't fuck with me, whore, you know full well what I am talking about,"

Her smile faltered.

"However, we have been talking about having someone like you around here permanently. We are important men with important and confidential business. We want someone stupid like you who will have no idea of the details or the importance of what we do."

Hermione nodded. Maybe there was a way around this.

"We expect you to perform acts of our choice, willingly and with no complaints. When we are not here, we want you to be getting this house into an acceptable state, as we have had complaints from our landlord." He winced as he said that last sentence. The landlord was no regular wizard, or even Muggle, it had to be Voldemort, and he was merciless, no wonder he shifted uncomfortably.

Hermione blinked and let her eyes unfocus. She knew that made her look dim and not all there. She would have them think she was so simple, she could not stand up a cauldron or hold a wand. But she would show them, and she would use all her cunning to get out of performing these 'acts'. Cleaning was ok - 'services' were definitely not ok, but she wouldn't argue, she wasn't there for the good of her health - she had a purpose.

She attempted to stand up for herself despite knowing that it may land her being shown as a spy figure or killed for insolence.

"What makes you think I'm that stupid not to realise what you may be doing?"

The man smirked. He was heavy set with greying dark brown hair.

"Look at yourself in the mirror darling. No smart girl would dress like that on such a night. You look as thick as two short wands - and where the hell is your wand may I ask sweet 'art? If you were anyway near intelligent, you would have it out to blast my fucking head off. So no offence or nothing." His tone was alarmingly different from his earlier speeches, he was clearly getting annoyed, Hermione shrunk back, she didn't want to make him angrier, she was on very delicate ground at the moment.

Hermione smiled within and said sweetly. "None taken."

This was going to be easier than she thought.

Over the next few days, Hermione wasn't supposed to leave the house. There wasn't time to get in contact with Dumbledore to tell him she hadn't been killed. Hermione could not think of a way out of the initial sexual act on the ringleader to prove what she could do.

It was degrading and disgusting. Hermione tried hard not to grimace as she took him into her mouth. She vowed this would be once and once only. Thinking of Ron made it worse, her guilt. He wouldn't want her to do this for him. The man tasted terrible and rubbed it into her face aggressively after.

When he was done and zipped up again, he led her to a magically extended room. Compared to the rest of the place, it was clean and lightly furnished. Hermione set down her stuff and held her head in her hands. She stayed like that all night, distraught at what she had done.

Her first morning, she was woken up and instructed to cook breakfast. That wasn't the worst task, but not an easy one. There were ten men to cook for, but identical in their tastes. They didn't seem to care what they put into their mouths or how ungracefully they shovelled it down.

Some went about their 'respectable business', while others lounged about the house, talking in hushed voices and leaving one at a time, looking over their shoulder as they walked down the road.

When there was only two left, Hermione got on with her set work to clear the house. Luckily, being a talented witch, rooms were sorted out quickly. Rubbish was summoned to bin bags and once that was all out of the way, apart from dusting and sweeping, there wasn't much to do. Even though she was a poor witch and slow on the uptake, she tried to show that she did have some skills- even though they were repetitive, domestic ones.

They arrived in dribs and drabs from five o'clock. She didn't know if she was expected to cook for them or not, but put aside a plan for a quick meal if she was expected to.

When they had all arrived, it turned out that they were expecting feeding. They waited impatiently like little boys while she cooked and ate with them while they discussed whether to keep her with them or not.

It looked like they agreed to keep her. The ringleader, Anton, seemed keen to keep her on, and talked animatedly during the first course, slopping tomato sauce down his robes.

Hermione really didn't understand. Why have her, when they were serious Death Eaters and could have a more loyal house elf. Without mentioning that they were evil, that they inflicted violence against Muggles, she asked her question. They looked at each other. Anton smirked.

"For a thick bitch, you ask a lot of questions."

"I suppose I do."

"Well, we'd prefer you to a house elf as you are a kinda all-in-one - cleaner, cook, slag - and to be honest you are too thick to ask questions to find out what we really do - you give head better than any house elf and did I mention that we will fucking kill you if you tell anyone anything - because we'll know if you do."

Hermione gulped. Emma Mercer, the whore/maid, wouldn't take that seriously - they were respectable, important businessmen - too posh to perpetrate murder. Hermione Granger, the spy, who was also a mudblood, knew they were Death Eaters. One step out of line or the slightest hint of suspicion and they would be taking what was left of her back to Dumbledore and her parents in a matchbox.

It took a while to negotiate leaving the house. Hermione was insistent that she had relatives who were either elderly, or she was devoted to and wanted to see. They agreed to allow her two hours out of her day to travel and visit, they didn't want to, but Hermione had asked why she wasn't allowed out of the house, it wasn't like they had anything to hide. She knew she was pushing her luck for that and they may have turned on her, but sighed with relief when Anton smiled uncomfortably and said: 'of course'.

What Hermione was also surprised at was that the Death Eaters were unrecognisable to the ones she had battled at Hogwarts in her fifth year. They were facially unrecognisable now, they had filled out after eating many good meals, their hair was shorter and kept more conservative than the matted mess it had once been. Exposure to the light and sun had darkened their skin slightly, and their eyes looked less manic, more human. Despite that and a few random small acts of kindness, like letting her settle in before they treated her like a whore. They were men who did terrible things and even though their lives were dedicated to Voldemort, a few human acts of mercy slipped through. But, she knew they had abducted, tortured and possibly killed Ron. There was no time to lose; she would have to work quickly.

Anton's second-in-command took Hermione on the tour of the house and gave her list of her duties about nine o' clock on her first morning. She didn't quite hear his name. He had the same attitude as his superior, and only spoke when giving orders for each room or remembering details about rooms and such she had to clean and what she was allowed to touch or not. Hermione noticed that she was only going into a few of the rooms. She thought about asking why, and see what he would say, but she remembered that Emma is supposed to be stupid. But not as stupid as this man...

"Now... Emma. You're probably wondering why you aren't to go into these rooms down here. Anton says I must tell you nutin' but we all reckon you're as thick as shit to be here so what we tell you, I reckon you're gonna forget."

"Oh right," she meekly replied, stumbling over her own feet as she went to prove her point that she was stupid enough to be told the screwy things. She wasn't even wearing shoes.

"You can't go any further than this point here," the 'second-in-command' as Hermione had now named him gestured to a door at what appeared to be the end of the hallway. "You can't because we have important things in there and it's to do with us and us only to know. There is nothing to stop you from opening the door to have a peek, but you seem the sensitive type and you would feel dead guilty if you betrayed us, not to mention fear that we are gonna kill you for what you saw." He seemed to like being able to tell her things that he couldn't mention to another person, like he could get it off his chest. He was regurgitating what Anton had said; he blindly followed his leaders, but needed someone to tell at the end of the day and was revelling in having a new person to teach.

Hermione laughed nervously. "No sir, I won't look into the door."

The 'second-in-command' looked at her approvingly. "Atta girl. You're learning. You know what - there is a better way of getting in anyway. He was getting more relaxed now, she appeared to hang onto his every word and he was enjoying this power it gave him. Now you wanna see a good piece of magic? Thought so, you don't seem very much like a witch, almost squibbish. This room here is magically added - but if we Apparate outside - can you do that love? No? Oh well, we'll just have to walk around. - Seriously, you want to learn how. Now if you tap the wall here with your wand like this - look - see? That platform that comes down takes us up to that room and its also shielded by an invisibility charm."

Hermione looked impressed. To her it seemed a little simple - any old witch or wizard could enter if they thought about the taps hard enough. But she had to appear like she had never seen anything like it in her life. She breathed reverently.

"Wow, it's amazing. I don't really get so see much magic. I went to Hogwarts, but I was never any good. I had just enough magic to scrape passes in everything; I didn't even go on after my OWLs. But why if there is a door inside - why have that?"

'Second-in-command' smiled at her in a fatherly way. "You are so simple - we have important things to do. Sometimes time is of the essence and there isn't time to unlock the door and race up the stairs and find the room,"

"Oh right."

'Second-in-command' put his arm around her. "You know what Emma, I think I'm going to like having you around here - you remind me of my own daughter who is going to look like you when she grows up. I hope she don't do what you do - but I'll be proud if she looks like you. You'll never have me breathing fire whiskey in your face asking for them sort of favours."

"Thank you," Hermione said gracefully, smiling encouragingly. "I think we're going to get on fine..."

On her first two hours off, Hermione made her way to the little holiday rental cottage that belonged to her 'Grandmother' and 'Auntie'. She had made detailed plans with Dumbledore to sort out the finer points of her plan, which she hadn't had time to see to.

The cottage was bound by the Fidelus charm so the Death Eaters could not find her there or anyone else who was visiting. When Hermione let herself in, she found an old woman sitting in an armchair idly attempting to knit. The blanket was a disaster, full of holes and wonky stitching.

"Tonks." Hermione stated. She knew it was the metamorphagus, who else would be so clumsy in their knitting?

"The very same. Hello, Hermione. Don't you look different?"

"Don't even start. You got any more robes for me? I am sick of these already."

Tonks got up and dragged a bag of clothes and other needed garments over to the inappropriately dressed woman.

"Here you go."

"Thanks."

"What have you got on them? Have you got anything at all? Do they even trust you yet?"

"I've got one of them who sees me more as a daughter, and I get the impression he thinks I'm so dumb, he can tell me the screwy stuff. He also keeps on showing me bits of magic that is hiding their stuff and how to get around it,"

"Men. Go gaga for a pretty face and good body," Tonks wisely said.

"I know - idiots." The two women cackled.

"But seriously," said Tonks. "You got the stuff?"

"Do I ever?" Hermione smiled, as she pulled out her wand and transfigured her purse into a pensive. Hermione looked at it and sadly smiled.

"Nice bit of magic there, isn't it?"

"Yep. Its my pensieve too."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it was my twentieth birthday present from Harry and Ron."

"Oh. You ok?"

"Think so. I just wish I could move faster that's all - it's been nearly two bloody days! He could be dead or anything. I just wish I could move faster."

Hermione pulled her wand to her temple and poured out her silvery memories into the bowl. They swirled around as Tonks tried to see what had happened.

"Shit, Hermione - that was never part of the plan was it?" Tonks was referring to what Hermione now bitterly called her 'audition'.

"No, but I couldn't think of a way out of it. Causing a fuss would have got me killed and my wand was too far into my robes to fight. I had no choice..."

"In the future, have your wand at the ready, knock them out and modify their memories - you know, its point and _Obliviate_!"

Hermione smiled.

"Or take part in a long seduction where I make them drink wine or something with sleeping tablets."

"You mean sleeping potion?"

"Tonks, are you mad? They will know a sleeping draught three million miles off. Muggle sleeping tablets are the way - they'll never know."

"You are a clever bitch aren't you?"

"Yep."

"Lets see what they've shown you... wow! The Order is going to find this dead useful!"


	4. Chapter Four

While Hermione worked for Death Eaters on her first two days, Harry was sitting in Dumbledore's office - well, perched.

Like his father before him - Harry was now an animagus. His transformation had been worked on for a year and was top secret, between himself and Dumbledore only. Harry had turned into a phoenix. It had been the Hogwarts headmaster's idea - brilliant mind that man had, Harry thought to himself. As a phoenix with similar markings to Fawkes - he could stay in school and close to Dumbledore where Voldemort would not come near. Harry was safe until it was time to fight. As a phoenix, Harry could be killed time and time again as long as his ashes were picked up and pocketed by the right side, not to mention the healing powers of his tears and strength. As a phoenix, he was showing loyalty to the older wizard, his mentor.

But it was uncomfortable on that perch, sharing with the real Fawkes. Fawkes didn't seem to mind his presence and even nodded sympathetically to the animagus he once off balanced and fell off the perch onto the floor below in an indignant, squawking heap. Dumbledore had laughed merrily before picking Harry up gently and putting him on his desk as he checked for broken bones or concussion.

This was saving his life - but he was certain it wasn't saving Ron's, for which he felt so disloyal. It was a boring existence. Dumbledore had tried to make up for it by talking animatedly about plans with the Order, spells, charms and transformations he had gone through himself to become the wizard he was today. But Harry missed his friends - and that was what bothered him most - he couldn't help them, couldn't see the long-term benefits of his efforts ahead of time. But he missed being able to walk and he especially missed Quidditch and flying from place to place instead of taking floo, where Voldemort might have his spies on the network.

It wasn't like Harry to sit around and wait while the action was going on and he didn't want Hermione exposed to Death Eaters doing Merlin knows what. Even though every member in the Order had been notified and they were working full time to get Ron and help Hermione.

Harry felt like a stone had sunk to the bottom of his stomach every time he thought about Ron and the Weasley family. How Molly and Arthur must be suffering, not to mention the other six siblings who were also fighting with their concern for Harry and Hermione - where they had disappeared.

He had heard that Molly was grieving like Ron was already dead. She was preparing for the worst, knowing that Voldemort's regime was not merciful and growing increasingly desperate with the pain of not knowing where he was, whether he was dead or alive and what horrors was he being subjected to.

Harry had gone with Dumbledore as a faux Fawkes to see the Weasley family when he made a visit personally to update progress on the case. All the Weasleys, even Fred and George who had temporarily closed the joke shop were working full time, tirelessly, searching and researching into Ron's disappearance.

Molly Weasley was beside herself, trying to be brave when she worked with the Order, but when home, dissolving into despairing tears when Ron's name was mentioned. The other Weasley children had rallied round their parents in a grim silence, their faces drawn.

Arthur Weasley had aged ten years in the past day Harry thought when he first saw him. He had shut himself away in work, and when home, he would cling to his wife as if she needed his help to stand. Harry had cringed at the sight of the family who believed they were bereaved.

Harry had gone from feeling bad to feeling like a traitor when Fred had asked after him. He wanted to transform and run to them and grieve with them, cry with them and stay and tell them that the Order would find them. Harry was never surprised at the family's closeness. Dumbledore had told the family that both Harry and Hermione had not been round because both were looking for Ron around the clock.

Harry's previous disappearance had not been mentioned and Percy (who had rejoined them just recently) had muttered something about the two young people not putting their own lives in danger and how they shouldn't in case is was made a triple tragedy and all three were killed.

It wasn't as if Harry had been lying about his disappearance or that he was working to save Ron. Harry was working to save them all in the end. How could he possibly feel guilty for something he hadn't done? - Yes he could. Not doing something, that was the problem. The Weasleys were worrying unnecessarily for him and friends were being led to believe he was undergoing dark transformations - or buggered off travelling - sod to hell with the rest of the world.

If Harry had his way, he wouldn't be in hiding as if he was scared, as an illegal animagus (hoping to register after the defeat of Voldemort.) He would have gone out as soon as he discovered he had been taken and found Ron, killed Death Eaters and this mess would all be over. He also wouldn't have sent Hermione to go do his dirty work - use her faked feminine charms instead of that marvellous brain of hers, not that her original ones weren't tempting, but she wasn't exactly to everyone's taste Harry thought irrelevantly, shaking his head as if to offload the idea.

Harry wanted this torture over, so he could go on to defeat Voldemort, he wanted to finally live his life. Just go and be a normal person with a mundane life and no others to rescue from impending death and disaster.


	5. Chapter Five

Ron didn't know where he was. It was a bad dream. Maybe he had too much to drink and was hallucinating that an invisible force and dementors overcame him.

His head definitely felt like he had a hangover, but it particularly ached at the crown which later he discovered when he hit his head on the coffee table. He put his hand up softly to where the pain was sited. His hair was crunchy and matted there was a huge lump and what felt like a scab.

It bloody hurt. He still had no idea where he was, but by judging the hardness and cold of his bed - he was sleeping in the gutter. What the heck would his mother say if she had heard of him sprawled in some alleyway as pissed as a fart staggering down the road, passing out, hitting his head on the way down.

But Ron didn't go to the pub that night. He knew he hadn't.

He woke up many hours later, feeling a lot better, still a little delicate, but fine all the same. Ron thought he had fallen out of his bed because of the hard floor he was lying on and there were no blankets. He also made a mental note to start a fire going. It was blimming freezing. What was it recently with him being cold? He didn't get that; the house was usually so warm....

Ron finally began to clock his surroundings when his eyes finally began to focus.

It was a room made entirely of stone. Walls, floors, but the door were wooden, and looked heavy - he bet it was locked by magic too. Where was his wand? He scanned the room again - there was no wand. He was starting to remember the previous time he had been awake and active and how he got that sore head. It was his still throbbing head and fuzzy feeling stupidity that kept him from thrashing around the room bellowing to be let out in panic. He let his eyes greedily swallow in the room; he decided that this must have been where they had taken him.

Ron stood up and staggered to the middle of the room, he discovered his bed was a simple stone step in the right hand corner of the room. On the left hand side opposite the bed, was a pit - obviously for toilet purposes and next to that, a stone bowl with water. There were no blankets; no chairs and the only light came from a little window ten feet above Ron's head.

The urge to use the pit was getting stronger, but he felt weak still and didn't know if he wanted to pee there. But he reminded himself of how desperate he was to go and since he didn't know how long he was going to be stuck there - no change of clothes, wetting himself was not an option.

Ron then hobbled over to the pit. Just as he was about to start, he heard the door open. Ron turned around not expecting anyone to be there - just his imagination. To his horror, he saw Lucius Malfoy standing there in the doorway with his usual look of disdain.

"Carry on Weasley," drawled the elder Malfoy, "I am not stopping you." Amused at catching Ron in such a position. "And turn around, stop pointing _that thing_ at me." The man smirked and moved his eyes down in mock lechery. Ron turned around and zipped himself up. This was too surreal. It made his nausea worse like he was being shaken too much after a heavy meal. The Death Eater had now conjured three chairs, then went to the door and let two heavy set men in who looked too stupid to even open a door. This was getting weirder by the second, but it felt so real. This was no dream....

"Weren't you about to do something Weasley?"

"Just finished."

"So if I poke my wand in your bladder, you will not soil yourself like some little child?"

Ron sullenly looked at the floor.

"Don't you dare try."

"Don't dare me Weasley." His voice dipped down, and slowed down in a threatening way. Ron didn't want to admit it, but he was starting to get scared. Ron knew Malfoy would enjoy it if he knew that Ron was scared. Ron saw no choice but to maintain a brave facade.

"Can you leave the room then?"

The three men howled with laughter.

"You _are_ joking? Leave you here, alone? I _don't _think so."

"Well can you turn around?"

"No."

Ron flushed and turned around again. This was not a time to argue, he was breaking his neck now, and wasn't going to last much longer, and if needs must....

This was the most humiliating experience of his life, even worse than his first few Quidditch matches. Starting his day by peeing in front of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle senior, and being imprisoned like this. They were trying to unsettle him, size him up, and get their own queer kicks for all he knew. He really didn't care now that he was being watched, but obviously down below did.

"Seriously don't watch me!" Ron called, turning his head round to face them.

The three Death Eaters cracked up.

"Stage fright!" one of them hooted in between giggles. Ron couldn't distinguish who it was. After meaningful looks exchanged between the three, they turned their chair around while Ron raised his arms mouthing: 'Thank you!'

No sooner when he was finished and ready to face whatever they were going to throw at him, he heard _'Crucio!'_ and was hit by the curse at a hard force. Maybe it was in hope that he would fall back into the pit and drown... or at the least covered in urine and excrement that had built up over the years.

Ron jumped forward when he was hit, so he was spared that degradation of being covered in the stuff. But writhed and rolled in his pain, he was winded, there were no vocals to scream, and it wouldn't have done any good any way.

He felt like every bone, muscle and centimetre of his skin was being stabbed at, twisted and ripped apart, his head pounded and hair felt like it was being torn from him clump by clump. His body was being broken again and again.

Malfoy decided to end the curse when he was getting sick of holding his wand and not hearing Ron scream in his agony. Instead, he used _'wingardium leviosa!'_ to lift the crumpled body of Ron on the floor and fly him over the room, taking pleasure when Ron hit his head, or limbs on the wall. Malfoy then lowered him and left him drop from five feet high. Ron smashed onto the floor, he was dazed and reeling still from the Cruciatus.

"Had enough yet Weasley?"

Ron was gasping for breath, and didn't want to answer him, but as Malfoy raised his wand, all he wanted was an answer, he didn't care which, either way, he was going to subject him to more.

"What ever I say you're gonna do more," he panted.

"How very true." Stated Malfoy sweetly and lifted Ron up again, twirling him upside down and spinning him until Ron was sick - to his amusement - it had splashed Crabbe and Goyle the most. His revenge was short lived, as the wizards decided this was unacceptable and used their wands to pelt jets of boiling water, stones and sparks at him.

Ron was now very weak; he was feeling frail and silly again. The nausea began to building up worse than before. His body ached and the stings of what ever it was that was being chucked at him weren't helping. The thing that got Ron though was that he didn't know why this was happening to him.

It didn't click until later when Ron was allowed to be released from this ordeal that Malfoy was having his fun with him before the inquisition and real torture began. At this point when Malfoy had finished with him, Hermione was making her first evening meal for the Death Eater group.

He knew he was going to be tortured and questioned. He knew the topic as well - Harry. He had nothing on him. He didn't know where he was and he didn't know his plans damnit! Ron had to see this as a good thing, because it meant he couldn't leak anything. He didn't even have any news on The Order either. He was useless to the dark side. He could not help them, and as soon as they knew that - he would be killed.

But Ron knew that they were stupid. They wouldn't believe that he knew nothing and would try for days to get even the slightest bit of information.

He slumped on his stone bed dejectedly. He hoped Harry and The Order were coming to get him. Harry was going to come and save him, Harry always did. It was just a case of waiting.

"Please come," he whined, choking at the thought of his friend.

"Quickly."


	6. Chapter Six

Harry was not good at being patient. Especially when a friend was in danger and needed him. While Ron was in the hands of Death Eaters, it nearly tore him apart to be sitting in Dumbledore's office posing as a bird. It wouldn't be long though; he could feel it. Hermione would get to the bottom of this. Either The Order or himself would free Ron and it would all be ok. Well, that was the naïve thoughts he was trying to comfort himself with.

He knew that this was the real world, elite members of such a group would not bungle the inquisition, torture and murder of a young man when they had killed so many before. He could always hope though....

Dumbledore always had his office too bloody hot. The fire raged brightly in the grate with ferocity that didn't owe to one big log that was hosting it. The fire was sustained by magic. The heat from it often made Harry drowsy and float off into a lazy doze that was a thankful relief from having to be awake, nervous and worrying about Hermione and Ron and his guilt of doing nothing.

His thoughts were uncomplicated and pleasant as he felt his body getting heavier and caring less about the physical world he was in. He soon fell into a deep sleep and began dreaming, and re running sketchy, illogically placed thoughts.

After Sirius' death, he had feared sleep, for dreaming about anyone else he loved. Having his thoughts indoctrinated, manipulated by Voldemort and acting on them, was a nasty concept, beyond nasty really, it implied an evil that he couldn't comprehend. When he was younger, he had wondered if Voldemort was human - somewhere. How could such pure evil exist? Now at the age of twenty, he resigned himself to just accepting that some people just... are.

He knew in his bones that his stupidity... no, not his stupidity, his arrogant attitude that he could deal with those dreams. Snape was right. He was a little narcissist. It was he who had killed Sirius; he didn't want that to happen to anyone else. He was not going to be swayed by any dreams of Ron and no matter how gruesome it was; he would not budge until he had talked to Dumbledore.

Often, he had nagged Madam Pomfrey for a dreamless sleep potion, but she refused to give it after the first two months following from Sirius' death. She said he needed to be independent and fight for himself and not be ruled by a special liquid. Nothing got done when people were dependent on such an addictive potion, believing it sorted the pain.

No amount of potion would take away the pain really; it was just a placebo effect, help carry a lie that he was ok.

And nothing would take care of the pain if this became another tragedy as well. He didn't think he could stand losing either Ron or Hermione, Harry would rather face Voldemort unarmed and dare him to kill him on the spot. He knew that he was being melodramatic, and would cry for ages instead, gritting his teeth and getting on with his life.

Harry woke up half an hour later with a gasp. He wasn't sure whether to take notice of this dream. It wasn't even as if it was something disturbing that needed quick action.

His dream was a tableau, just an old stone cellar under a newer looking house. He didn't really see the house; it was just the basement that was incongruous to the house. It wasn't a magnificent sight at all, not like the views of many lands that he had seen in other dreams. It looked non-descript, boring, indistinguishable, not worthy of his attention.

But it bugged him all the same. This was one small image, yet it prompted feelings of anxiety and fear. He really didn't know what to make of it. Dumbledore was at a meeting, he had 'abandoned him', leaving him to sit on that bloody perch. Sometimes that old man didn't have a clue about what was needed. He needed his friends to be safe. He needed to go himself and find them. He needed to stop this useless, guilty feeling. There was nothing he could do, unless he wanted to get killed.

Well, he couldn't go looking for the Hogwarts headmaster. Harry was supposed to be abroad, or looking for Ron or something, and Fawkes wasn't allowed to be randomly flying around the country unless he had a delivery, and Harry didn't have Fawkes' sense of direction to where his master was dwelling. He would just have to perch and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Dumbledore came bursting into his office about quarter to six, almost out of breath with exertion and excitement.

"Harry, Hermione's been taken to Voldemort."

Harry felt his stomach sink, and cold waves of dread, causing a frightening immobility. He transformed back to his human shape and leaned on Dumbledore's big desk to steady his shaking limbs. This was fear. Was he going to lose his friend?

"What?" he managed to croak weakly.

"She's alright. He spared her, so I've heard. We need to meet up with her and hear of any news she may have." Harry let out a sigh of relief. Fearing the worst, and it happening was starting to become commonplace. It was wonderful when the worst didn't happen. He could have jumped with joyous relief, but managed to contain himself instead of looking like a gawky teenage idiot. Control of one's emotions was the thing now.

"I have to tell you this before we go. I had another dream." Harry blurted out, interrupting his old headmaster, as he was about to suggest they leave right away for Tonks' cottage and summon Hermione to them. Dumbledore's face fell, and he looked forbidding, as if warning him not to act on it.

"What is it Harry?" Dumbledore asked quietly. "But you must not dwell on it, and we must not let it cloud our judgement - ever."

"I understand." Harry lied. He didn't really understand that. So, they were the side that could not feel guilt in holding emotion in them - but not express it? Dumbledore must have been more cracked than he thought. Harry chided himself for thinking bad thoughts about his overall protector and mentor. He made mistakes like the rest of them - and who said that the old man had to make sense? The whole situation didn't make sense.

"Now, tell me your dream." Dumbledore was curt in that demand, as if he had heard Harry speak out aloud his less than complimentary thoughts of the older wizard.

And Harry told of the strange vision he had while Dumbledore listened, nodded at the right places, then analysed the data given, to ponder over if maybe such a dream was genuine, or even worth taking notice of. He inclined his head and said:

"I think this dream may be legitimate. I'll owl Hermione straight away, and we'll go down to Tonks. I think with what she can tell us, and what you have seen will be a great help, and we can plan our attack and free Mr. Weasley."

The smile Harry gave his former headmaster was the first brilliant and truly happy smile he had done in ages. They were on their way, and it appeared both Ron and Hermione were still alive.


End file.
